


too much.

by ffomixam



Series: tumblr requests. [26]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Boys Cry, Excessive Swearing, Light Angst, M/M, Pre-Beatles, pre-fame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 21:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ffomixam/pseuds/ffomixam
Summary: "[...] Could we get a story where John yells at Paul for something stupid, making him cry and then does his best to make it up to him?"





	too much.

1959,

John had fucked up. Severely, in fact. And it was yet another time to curse the asshole that he was so frequently. He had made his good friend Paul cry. His best friend! And he had made him cry! And fuck! His first instinct had been to make the situation even worse and mock him for it! Why did he realise the fucked up things he did always too late? Paul had run back home after John’s colossal fuck up and now John was slowly making his way to Forthlin road; working on his apology on the way.

And it only proved what kind of fucknut John now felt he was as the apology wasn’t coming easily to him. Was just saying ‘ _sorry_ ’ enough? Surely not.

And what had it all been for, really? He yelled at Paul for what really equated as spilt milk. He had been in a sour mood, to begin with, and Paul had just hit the wrong nerve. But, really, John realised now; that hadn’t been the lad’s fault. But of course, he realised this now! And not thirty minutes ago when he fucking should have.

He reached the house and with a rock of anxiety weighing him down in the pit of his stomach; he knocked on the door, anticipating the worst. With luck, he might be let in. He could understand if he weren’t. He, sure as hell, knew if somehow had behaved in that way towards him; he would’ve told them to stick it where the sun doesn’t fucking shine.

Paul’s father opened the door; much to John’s misfortune. That man didn’t like John, and he made that much obvious. Fuck. John could only hope he wasn’t aware of John’s current predicament.

“Oh, it’s you,” the grey-haired man grumbled as he fumbled with a pipe in his hands.

John shrugged awkwardly, not really in the mood for his usual comebacks and jeers. This time he simply muttered the agreement that yes; it was, in fact, him.

“Can I… uh, talk to Paul?”

He asked the question carefully with his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket as he waited with nerves flaring high as he waited for an answer of any kind. Whatever the answer was; he would find a way to get to Paul.

“He’ll hardly want to see you now,” the father answered back in a stoic manner and swiftly interrupted John’s pleas with the slam of the door.  _Fuck_.

John cursed under his breath as he made some quick thinking as what to do now. An idea was fast in coming to mind and John hurried into the McCartney’s backyard; hoping that the Lord of the house weren’t anywhere near the windows facing it to see him. He looked around the small garden. Climbing to Paul’s window, like out of some dumb romance novel, was out of the question. The bricks not at all available in that kind of way, and trees were nowhere near it.

His mind stuck again with another  _brilliant_  idea and he collected a small handful of pebbles and hoped he would luck out and not break the fucking window. That would  _not_  better his predicament by any means if that were to happen.

It took a while, one or three rocks, before there seemed to be any life in the room. Good, for John had almost feared Paul weren’t in his room after all. The windows slammed open and a rather irate Paul stared down at him from the second floor. Or he assumed he looked around; John had foregone wearing his glasses. He was lucky he even managed to hit the glass.

“Paul!”

He called out, relieved the younger boy had seemed willing to give him the chance to talk.

“Please, listen to me! I am so sorry for being such a massive cunt!”

Paul was still peering out the open windows. His cheek burned hot from crying. He didn’t feel angry or mad at his friend. Rather disappointed; which was much worse, he thought. He rested his head against his hand on the window sill and sighed as he listened to John with the cool breezes hitting his burning cheeks in a way that relieved much of the tension he had felt. He nodded for John to go on; though he was unsure if the boy could even make that out through his stubbornness in not wearing his glasses.

“I shouldn’t’ve come at ye like that! Massive dick move of me!”

He heard a burst of hard laughter and saw movement near about where Paul should be. It relieved some of the tension sitting heavily on John’s shoulder and he allowed himself some hope that he hadn’t massively fucked up.

“It’s alright, John,” he soon heard and allowed himself to release the air he had been holding in. He nodded and allowed himself to plop himself down on the cold grass with a soft ‘ _thud_ ’. He had rushed to the house in such a hurry, and had held so much tension in his body from the stress he himself had caused that his legs just felt absolutely weak.

“I’m fine,” he heard Paul again say with a small snicker as he watched John down on the well-kept lawn.

Said boy nodded and flashed a thumbs up in the air as he allowed himself to fall back on the grass.


End file.
